Whisperwill

Twill the wisps, then twas not the silence at all,
the night slips slippery sloping as if the twilight
thus falls along the moonbeam that was not
as it once was but now creeps lavenderly 
by the soft satinish copper tones of sleep.
These words imagine themselves to print
the rain drop splotches of ink dip, dip 
sendings like the ripplerills ebbing away
into meticulous dreams shivering softly
across the ice cold sheets. I twon't tell
a soul she whispers along to my ears-
drum song a thumb thumping pong
to the tub tumbling trill I get when
her voice like lavender tickles my 
inner pollywongle something to twitch
I asketh my heart strings to reverberate
her warm repetitions in my sane
as if I can resuscitate the shadow
of activity that plays out in the 
diorama that is my brain.


copyright mv2studios 2016